Mother shakes me, rocking my soft bed. "C'mon, get up. Do you want to miss it?"

I wipe my eyes, sinking back into my fluffy pillow. "What?"

She smiled, brushing a peice of my hair from my forehead. "The Interveiws. It's on."

I nod. Today I went to sleep early, waking up to go with my friends family to see the Tribute Board in the Maine Square. "Has it started yet?"

She nods. "Ceaser's giving his welcome speech."

"I'll be down in a minute," I murmer. "Give me some time."

Mother nods, leaving my room. My room looks dim in the dark, closet door slightly open, dolls all propped in a row. At the Tribute Shop, I got a doll of Johanna Mason and Annie Cresta. They're my favorites. Annie because she won on my birthday, Johanna because she reminds me of my oldest sister, Mimi.

They stare at my wall, full of knick-knacks. I collect spare parts of things, and put them all in a box. Springs, coins, anything shiny. It's my hobby. I love books too, though. My wall is full of old books and journals. My pale pink walls look grey in the dark, sad like a melting pastel. That's my absolute favorite thing to do, though. Draw.

I always carry my pad of paper with me, jumping at the chance to sketch something. I may be 7, but I think I'm really good. So do my friends and teachers. During the Hunger Games, I'll draw moments, shading each tribute accurately. Sometimes, they leap off the page, weilding their knife or spear.

To tell the truth, the Games scare me. Almost everyone in the Capitol loves to watch them, but that's because it's interesting. I don't like it that they steal them from their family. It's wrong. Noone here cares, though. Most people that speak out, and express their dislike of the Games don't come back. What I mean is that they're invited to President Snow's masion, but you don't see them again. Luckily, that doesn't happen much.

Throwing the covers off my warm bed, I striaghten my silk nightgown, running my fingers along the rubies adorning the bottom. Tip-toeing to the window of my room, I open the doors, throwing them open to the chilly air. While it may be summer, it's still cold from winter. The curtains lift in the breeze, and my brown hair is lifted off my shoulders.

For a moment, I close my eyes, pretending I'm flying. Lifting my arms, my fingers glide, cutting through the wind like butter. My dress ripples around my legs, and I'm frozen: A butterfly, about to take flight. I lift myself up onto my toes, and laugh quietly, a smile smeared on my pale face.

When the wind dies down, I dissolve back to the real world, my feet touching the carpet of my room. With a simple blink of my blue eyes, I float down the steps, watching the rays of the moon shine onto the stairs. When I reach the bottom, I go and sit on the couch beside Mother. My siblings are downstairs as well, Father tapping a tablet, talking about each Tribute, information that's been posted on the Capitol's Annual Tribute Summaries. CATS.

I gingerly pick a chocolate-covered strawberry from the bowl Mother's holding, and bite into the sweet fruit. Mimi files her nails, brown hair up in a high pony-tail, glitter streaks flowing through the copper waves.

Sidney, Libby, and Cristinia are watching as well. Cristinia doesn't watch the Games, because the blood gives her nightmares. She's only 2, anyway. Mother lets her watch the Reaping, Chariots, and Interveiws, but I doubt my baby sister knows what's going on.

Sidney is five, and Libby is six. Mimi is fourteen. Sidney doesn't like to watch, and normally plays outside when the Games happen. Libby has gotten used to them, and likes to watch me draw when the Games are on. Mimi likes them, and always votse on which Tribute should win, sometimes adding to the gifts the Tributes receive.

"Now, Jewel, what is your strategy for the Games?" Ceaser asks, leaning forward. The beautiful girl from One giggles, her laugh like a bell.

"Oh, you'll find out, Ceaser, you will- I promise," she responds, red curls bouncing.

My finger twitch, thumping against my bare calf, and Libby looks over, glancing at my hand. I can feel it, my fingers tracing the girls angled face, bright green eyes, glossy curled fire-hair. Mother laughs, handing me another strawberry.

"Oh, Sara, your always doodling... You know, I might be able to get you an art easle for your Birthday..." she trails, watching the other tributes come and go, come and go.

I smile. My Birthday. Right. Annie's doll should've reminded me. In one week, I'll turn eight. Eight years old. What's changed since then? The Victors, of course. For my Birthday, though, I don't want another Hunger Games thing. I'm tired of it all. The winner's Token adorning every shops windows, replicas of their clothing... I do want clothes though... Something... Different.

My head rests on my hand as I think, chewing on my strawberry, watching the tributes talk, thinking. Just thinking.

One Week Later

I walk dowstairs in my white dress and orange shawl, brown hair up in a bun. In our silver kitchen, the wooden table is the only non-metal peice. It was imported from District Seven, carved and engraved right in the District. I don't know why, but I love that. It's been through another part of the world. The only tours that we Capitol citizens get are our Vacations to the beaches, and to the Arena's.

Plates piled with syrupy cakes, heaps of eggs, and plenty of pastries are on the table, and my family is eating it all. Mother kisses me on the forhead, and winks at Father. I'm now sure what their up to, but I'm positive it's got to do with my birthday.

The mintue I've swallowed a cookie, Mother returns with two boxes. One big, and one very small, almost the size of my hand if not tinier. I smile, picking the small one off. When I open it, I find a diamond necklace.

"I picked it out," Father says proudly. He passes it around for my sisters to marvel at, but Mimi rolls her eyes.

Rubbing my hands, I pull the string on the big box off, letting the lace ribbon fall into my lap. I slide the top off and gasp, covering my mouth with my hand.

Inside is a beautiful yellow coat. It's made of a soft material, like velvet, but softer. Like silk, but smoother. The color pops against the white box, and even Libby who hates most coats, stops eating and stares at my present.

I fumble with the buttons of my orange cardigan, and set it on the counter, lifting my new coat from the box. Slipping my arms into it, I button the top, and smooth it down.

Mother smiles. "You look beautiful, Sara."

I grin, and throw my arms around her and Father. "Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!"

They laugh, and I just beam. I look at myself in our mirror, twirling, admiring the present. The most beautiful thing I own.

My Lemon Coat.

Whew! So, that took a while! I wanted to write this story for a while now, just thinking about that girl in the Lemon Coat... So I decided today was a good time.

I named her Sara because I found it suited her. I think I'm going to have maybe five or six chapters. This was mainly an introdutcion, but I'm going to focus on the 74th games, the riots, shortages, the 75th Games, and all the events through Mockingjay.

It's a lot to cover, so there might even be ten chapters.

But how do you like this? It's something new, because we didn't know anything about her. I just... I feel bad for her character.

So, this is how I imagine "Sara." Do you like her? I'm going to type more over the summer, so it may be finished by August.

But, please REVEIW! Don't just read and say nothing! Please, please, please, please, PLEASE reveiw!

Well, thanks for reading!